Redeem Me
by Arni
Summary: Two hot doctors getting sweaty with each other because that's what hot doctors do in my universe. Smut time with a dash of angst.
1. Fan the Flames

Author's Note: I needed to write this. If inspiration strikes again, it may turn into a more serious fic, or a few one shot smut scenes.

* * *

Their relationship was defined by illicit rendezvous and violent, passionate sex.

Married, not in his team, they had only a few excuses to be together and even those were starting to sound old and used. Eventually it would all collapse, they'd have to deal with the consequences of their lust, but for now...

* * *

She surprises him in the corridor to the morgue, pulling him into a storage room and silencing his complaints with her mouth. Neither of them had the key, so he leant against the door, her fingers in his mouth as she eases down to her knees. It felt right, his tongue flicking over her fingertips as her other hand jerks his pants open, pulling his length out into the cool air and tasting him again. Not their first time doing this particular dance and she knew the moves that would reward her.

The back of his head pushes against the door in ecstasy, lost in pleasure as the warmth that was her head bobbed deep down. When her nose pinned his boxers against his crotch he shudders and comes hard into the accommodating mouth that continues to work him over until he feels completely drained by the entire experience. Backing off slowly, he can feel her tongue cleaning every drop from him, leaving only a cool sheen of saliva to show him where she has been.

Her eyes follow his movements as she carefully buttons him back up, his fingers only stopping her when she starts to lift his pants up.

"We're not done." His hand was in her hair, pulling her up level with him, his slouch leaving them as equals until he spins her face first into the door, her cheek pressed hard against the emergency evacuation procedures for the hospital. The impact is stunning, emptying her mind of everything except his warmth against her back, his breath in her ear, his cotton-sheathed cock pressing hard against her ass, God bless high heels.

Fingers infiltrate between her stomach and the door, teasing downwards, their passage facilitated as his fingers graze hot skin. Her moan is deep and pained, achingly needy, her ass ratcheting backwards against him two notches. Pants slip down, dropping around her ankles, panties barely make it to her thighs before he's grinding against her and she's bucking back.

"House, we shouldn't..." Empty, useless words, regretting them before they even passed her lips but the electric sensation of his fingers pushing between her closed thighs quiet any further protestations.

"Your husband wouldn't like us doing this, would he?" The smile in his words echo in her moan as he gets just close enough to her clit to make her shiver. Robert wouldn't like this at all, poor, restrained, buttoned-down, boring Robert. He was so terrified that she was still in love with House. Maybe she was, maybe not, but lust, definitely lust.

All such thoughts are lost as he thrusts into her, slamming her ass hard enough to force her entire form flat against the door, the uncomfortable angle pulling his cock almost all the way out as her hips rotate forwards. Pushing back imbeds him back where he belongs, but he just batters her to the door again, his tip rubbing hard inside her. His lips are softer, kissing and touching over the side of her face he can see, even as they establish a rhythm. It won't last, can't last, especially in this position, too much stimulation for both of them, even with the taste of his climax fresh in her mouth she knows too many secrets not to make him come.

His stare sears the image into his mind, her hair escaping from its loose ponytail, hot blush rampaging across her cheek, lips parted as she gasps for air, his chest heavy against her shoulder blades. Fingers dig into his shirt, her arms tensing as she pulls him flush against her before bucking him off again, stifling a needy moan as the nerves behind her clit overload. She feels his teeth on her neck and loses control, ass shoving backwards to maximise her violation as she keens, whining her love for him in muted exaltation, begging for him to stain her, to claim her with his seed.

Fingers dig into pale thighs, bruising as he pounds her braced body, trying to force her hips to the door, if for nothing else than to assert his dominance, but she resists his advances even as her sex ripples and squeezes around him in ecstasy. He gives her what they both want, pushing deep and exploding and filling her with the only gift he can give. Holding her close he shivers, grinding hard and feeling her eyelid flutter against his forehead, leaning against her painfully as he lets her body coax the last of his seed into her.

Contented panting fills the room for a minute, the afterglow dulling the aches, her fingers stroking against his sides proudly. The pop of his vicodin lid brings them back to reality as he swallows two, taking another and kissing it forcefully into her mouth, to be swallowed obediently. She never really approves, but it feels too good to resist, especially when it is his tongue pushing it down her throat. She'd do anything if he wanted her to.

Fantasies interrupted by his fingers pulling her panties up, she turns, only emptiness and his semen filling her now. He bears down, pinning her to the door again, her mound tightly encased in cotton once more, his lips kissing hers. A finger rubs teasingly against her through the fabric, causing a shudder, eyes boring the unspoken message into her. Mine.

"I can't go home like this. Robert will know." Hell, anybody who got too close would know, she'd have to hide in her office again, unable to focus on work, unable to focus on anything but his come in her.

"My point exactly." His smirk is infuriating.

"I'm not telling him! I love him." More lies, to the one person who knows for a fact that she's lying. And he just smirks, blissfully aware of her duplicity, encouraging it, knowing she'll always come back no matter what he does, until she'll come to him and never leave, never again.

But not today. Looking away angrily she bends, pulling her black slacks up, forever thankful that her wardrobe would cover their indiscretions.

He steps away, rubbing his leg and watching her. When she looks at him again her anger has burned out, an explosion deprived of oxygen, hot and furious, but short-lived. Her hand slips under his, easing the tension in his muscles faster than vicodin ever could.

"Can I sleep at your apartment tonight?" Her eyes plead for him to let the charade continue. As always, he nods his curt assent, fingers circling her arms, drawing her in, kissing her, pushing all the things he can't say at her in the only form he can. She kisses back, understanding, accepting. It's their way. She lies and denies while he stands stoically silent.

Pulling away, she smiles, almost shyly, "I'll see you later." He nods again, following her out of the room when she's sure the way is clear.

Consequently, nobody else hears the gunshot report of his palm slapping her ass.


	2. A Climactic Overture

Author's Note: More smut? Oh my word.

* * *

His bed always felt like home. A true home. Somewhere where she was safe, wanted and loved, even if his love did frequently leave her crying. But even when left curled in a nest of duvets, tears liberally soaking her pillow, it was a safe place. Eventually he'd come back and stroke a calloused but unbearably tender hand down her spine and she'd roll against him, shuddering in his arms for a few moments at the remembrance of what she had lost. The feeling would burn away into little more than an ashen memory and then she was kissing him and then, oh god, fingers!

His fingers expressed everything about him worth knowing. Hard when they should be, forcefully and cruel, or kind, graceful and whimsical. Passing him coffee in the morning, that brief contact of skin on skin, was more intimate a sensation than she'd shared with most of her past boyfriends. The best part was that he understood, he understood! Whenever she felt drained, emotionally barren and unable to care about anyone or anything for fear of spiralling into depression, he'd pass her a file, a syringe, he even dropped half a chocolate bar on the floor once. His eyes were all over her as she stooped and it felt good, good in the way that left her desperate to touch herself, but even his eyes weren't as electrifying as fingers retrieving the candy bar, sliding across her palm and smearing the oily chocolate residue into her skin.

Of course, he promptly ate the remnants of the candy bar that had been sitting forlorn on the office-clean carpet and laughed at her show of disgust. Asshole.

* * *

The world dawned a dark black velvet, smudges of light at the periphery of her vision giving no clues as to time, date, even place. Touch alone was good enough. She was home. But something was different. His tongue slides across her and she arches, unable to see but more than capable of hearing, of feeling. Tense muscles coil in her thighs and between them as the tongue swipes across her hot skin. Stubble kisses her thighs, teasing every nerve, easing her libido into motion. With infinite control and careful touches he pushes, feeling her body purr and buck as he exerts his will. She reaches up, fingers rubbing across the eye-mask that had been left forgotten in her underwear draw for years, before his hands wrestle her wrists to the mattress, scolding and nipping his disapproval on pale skin. There is no response when she moves to rest her thighs, draping them over his shoulders, feet flat on his back as she hugs him the only way he'll let her.

"Oh House." I love you.

He doesn't need to use his fingers this time, blonde locks cascading about in a tumbling charybdian maelstrom of silk as she gasps and whines, desperate to lose control, to be taken, to give more of herself and receive more in return.

Silence accents her climax with desperation, twitching like an addict under his tongue as nails feebly try to dig into him. Eventually it's too much, her body over-sensitized, her pleas falling on deaf ears until she comes on his face once more, panting and wracked with tremors. Cuddling against him, though the oxytocin flooding her mind insists it would feel perfect, is simply not an option. But when his arms encircle her, slipping the eye mask off, the biological imperative is too great not to bond herself to him.

She can feel the hardness pressing in against her thigh, teasing him for a moment before welcoming him into her wetness. He doesn't last long, and that's just fine, his sweaty masculine form shooting hard and fast into her makes her feel like a teenager again. Purring, arms wrapped around him, her legs pulled up against his side the way she knows he likes, a picture perfect scene of a dysfunctional drug addict fucking an adulterer with a submissive streak a mile wide.

"You're heavy." His grunt is non-committal, but he rolls aside.

Letting her eyes roam, it's a nice view. Muscles and hair and sweat in just the right amounts to embed her teeth in her bottom lip, until she unfurls from his side, dismantling doting, adorable Cameron and reassembling atop him as hell-cat Cameron, draining handsome doctors of their sexual energy one cum-shot at a time.

He groans up at her, "What do you want now?" A shit-eating, Cheshire smile is his only response, seating her light body down into his lap and grinding.

"Guess." He hardens noticeably, and her eyes flare, running nails down his chest and schlepping along his length until a tilt of her hips pulls him in again, her eyes extinguished behind trembling lids, nails arching into his flesh ever-so-slightly as she settles. Each tweak, grind and bounce feels better than the last, and she enjoys her illusion of control, flexing forwards athletically, pushing her breasts out for him to inspect, before sitting back down, shaking a happy groan free from him.

Fingers walk up and down her sides, encouraging movement, pushing and pulling until she is rolling him within her. Then they ascend to pay tribute to her compact breasts. Holding them feels good, right, perfectly fitting his palms with weight enough to enforce her slim femininity. As if he could forget, a carefully timed pinch eliciting a squeak and shudder.

"Again." Only too happy to comply, his fingers and thumbs conspire, her head tossing as he crushes the sensitive dots.

She bounces hungrily now, needy. Only too happy to comply, he fucks right back up her sex, pinching occasionally to drive her further endanger her mind and body in his corrupting embrace. He watches their joining, marvelling at this woman letting him do these things to her, such pleasurable things that really have no business being nearly as fun as they are. Such thoughts wash away in a fresh release, pinching hard and dropping his hands to pin her hips down, fountaining into her depths. It feels almost painfully good, too good to last, and she's not going to join him without encouragement.

"Cameron!" I love you.

It works, she arches lithe as a cat, mewling and clawing his chest as control slips from her fingers. His hips ram up at her, smacking obscenely against her, until she collapses atop him, gasping for a respite from pleasure and exertion.

Hazy eyes gaze adoringly at him once more, sliding sideways to grasp his vicodin and placing the little pill bottle on his chest. She makes a little show of extracting two, feeding them to him before putting them aside before he can get one into her. Sometimes being high on life really is enough.

They fall asleep, his legs wrapped around hers, her head pillowed on his warm arm.


	3. Lust Actually

Why was she so uncomfortable? Waking up next to him was a special treat, reserved only for the rare opportunities when she could create a convincing excuse to escape her suspicious husband. After discovering that House actually enjoyed her company after sex and wasn't overly obnoxious about cuddling, it was something she had tried to maximise. But something was off…

Her arms were caught behind her back, bound tightly together, her efforts revealing no weaknesses in what could only be his latest scheme to torture her. She wiggled her fingers, restoring blood-flow to her arms and gasping a little as her skin prickled with sensation, thousands of tiny needles dancing across her flesh. One of her fingertips touched something that wasn't part of the bed, something warm.

"House?" An echo was her only response, until one of his arms wrapped around her, his chest meeting her back.

"Cameron." His voice was smooth, too smooth for him at this time in the morning, he must have been awake a while. Further thoughts were crushed as his hand grazed her nipple, leaving nothing but the beginning of a hot need burning, a thought which only made her blush more.

Arching, she felt herself press up against him, hard against her butt, leading to a momentary fantasy about what it would feel like to have him take her there. It would hurt, but that wasn't scary anymore, he managed to bend pain around until she forgot what separated it from the intense fire he stoked within her. Her fantasy was rudely interrupted by a sharp pinch on her breast.

"Did you hear what I said?" His voice was as sharp as his fingertips, a ripple of fear and need running through her.

"No." It didn't take him long to control her body, but he didn't try to take away her choices. Both were invariably fun, so why not let her choose. Pushing her head around she looked at him, morning light shining through hot mist rising from his body. Had he showered? How long had she slept?

House stroked his hand downwards, teasing a taut tummy until fingers could creep over her mound, pressing tight against her need.

"So I guess you don't want me to fuck you this morning?"

Her irises flashed wide, pushing her hips at his fingers, "I do! House!" He'd made it difficult for her purposefully, she knew it, rolling wildly to press up close, feeling her boobs mashed to his chest as she kissed angrily at him, all twisted about atop the sheets. His smile was infuriating given how easily he was frustrating her attempts to encourage him. Eventually a quick roll separates them, leaving her flopped over on her front, glaring sideways up at him until his limp takes him out of view behind her.

A hand is on her again, swatting her ass before he pulls her hips up, fingers on her back stopping her from sitting back or kneeling. He doesn't tease for long, hands running to her hips, propping himself up as he positions in behind her, resting himself between her buttocks for the second time this morning, eliciting the same animalistic reaction as the first time around. He backs off a little before nudging into her easily, hands stroking the rage and lust away from her in cool, collected, caring caresses. It did nothing to silence her whimper, but the pillow under her face did enough of that.

She stretched, fingers grasping through the air to meet his hips, clawing at him as he sinks deep, hips nuzzling up so tight that she is trapped between her pillow and his wanting body. It feels like heaven, even better when he started to rut into her, all of her strength going into pushing back at him, keeping him in her as long as possible.

It was a beautiful view. She trusted him completely, arms twitching in their gauze prison, face and neck red with the effort of getting enough oxygen to stay conscious. Slipping a hand under her, his fingers forcefully rubbing against her sex until it was plain she wouldn't last any longer than he could.

Easing up for a moment, his hand slid up, leaving a trace of her wetness up her tummy until his fingers deviate around her side and into her long hair, floating free over her neck. The ache in his leg throbbing dully was all the encouragement he needed to know this had to end, now.

Fisting her silken mane into a ponytail, he pulls her head back, easing the weight on and his wrist back as her spine arches. Her gasps are now little more than primal moans, the pain of her hair almost pushing her over the edge as her torso floats up. The arch leaves her suspended at least a foot above the mattress, her ass pressed tightly to him for any support he can offer.

When he starts to thrust, bouncing her off his hips in an arc, the tension is too great, her mouth locked open in a silent scream as she is left helpless to resist his urgent fucking. He gives in, climaxing hard and satisfying his needs as well as hers. As he peaks, his other arm encircles her, pulling up until she is sitting in his lap, his leg grumbling constantly, but her heat pressed against him is too good to resist as she rocks against him.

They shiver together, his hands touching tenderly now, easing the bandages down her arms until they unravel. Grabbing his forearms, hips still rocking she moans softly, the feelings too good to end.

His lips kiss against her neck a moment, before murmuring into her ear, "You like being on top?"

The squeeze on his arms and release of his right can only be taken as a good sign, her breathing sharp as she teases herself, fingers stroking down over his shaft still half inside her. The touches are just enough, his hands moving to cup her breasts as he feels himself stiffen agonisingly inside her.

"Come again." His tone begs no inquiry, but it's not an order. She disobeyed his 'orders' frequently, especially recently as his punishments were much more fun than clinic work now. No, her next stuttering orgasm was nothing short of a commandment from on high, her fingers frantically grinding on her clit as his sweat-soaked skin shivers beneath her.

His tongue was kissing her neck when she tossed her head back, her wail one of complete perfect pleasure. Holding her tight he let her moan and writhe, slippery in his arms, his leg's protesting eventually became impossible to silence, pushing her forwards until he could slip aside, flopping back onto the desecrated sheets.

In seconds she was moulded to his side, wrapped tightly to him, kisses peppering his shoulder and stubbly cheek. It felt nothing short of perfect.

* * *

Robert's sullen eyes watched her intently through the window separating the operating room from the scrub station, reading her, turning away only when the primary nudged him with an elbow and said something. The last expression she could read in his eyes was a mixture of disappointment and sorrow. There was no point in staying and watching. Even though Chase was fast cottoning on to the fact that something was twisting between them, he wouldn't deal with it now. Patients came first, as always. He'd make someone very happy one day. The bitter tang of guilt almost made Cameron wish he made her happy. She hid in her office until the first tear fell, splashing into the swirling darkness. Getting married was stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course House had to toy with her, a very smug cat with a very scared mouse. A mouse, she thought sourly, who would compromise her own desire for a quick fix. Chase was instant coffee, hot, easy and safe. But now that House wasn't being a completely infuriating ass_ all_ of the time… Who chooses instant when she could have the real thing?

But they'd moved on, she was sure of it! If she thought House wanted her, needed her, even really cared, then Robert would never have been an option. Then all of a sudden House was gone. She hadn't expected him to be at the wedding, but she expected a reaction. Instead, he vanished.

It took over a week of interrogation until Wilson snapped. He needed to talk to somebody and so the story poured out. It sounded too unlikely, too far out, even for House. She even wondered if it was a setup to punish her for marrying Chase, before she filed that thought away under 'Self-Centred Ass'. Going with Wilson to the grey stone slab of the institution was a punch to the gut, reality asserting itself unpleasantly.

She almost cried when she first saw him. The institution was a carnival hall of mirrors, distorting reality until natural laws collapsed, up became down, hot became cold, day became night. Wilson had left them alone for a while so he could speak with one of the staff and she'd just sat there, unable to think of anything to say. He didn't say anything, even when he looked up at her, sensing nothing but nervousness radiating from the thread-bare armchair and its occupant. Wilson returned and watched them both for a moment before taking Cameron carefully by the arm. She death-gripped the sleeve of his jacket all the way back to the car.

At least charts kept her busy, busy enough that she was fairly sure the nurses hadn't even noticed the bubbling cauldron of guilt and concern that was Allison Cameron. They'd pop in occasionally to shoulder tap her, keeping her in the loop, but it was obvious to all that she wasn't really there. Chase was quickly assigned the blame and the unspoken agreement was to be a little cooler to him until their boss' mood improved.

Besides, she didn't have to worry about him tonight. He was booked through till midnight, if the surgery went smoothly, longer if she had read the patients chart correctly. If he made it home it was doubtful he'd notice her missing before exhaustion smothered him with sleep.

* * *

"House." Her voice was small, robbed of its timbre by cheap electronic gadgetry. It was still the best thing he'd heard all day

"If you're enquiring about my long-distance plan, I'm perfectly happy thank you." He could hear her smile and it felt good. Making her happy was a guilty pleasure, given his carefully crafted image, but he wasn't shy about her knowing this.

"Are you doing anything? I… want to see you." Tension, trepidation, hope with a touch of uncertainty, as if her words would somehow force him to confront her neediness and recoil away, horrified.

"So come over." It came across sharper than intended and she was silent for a moment.

The eventual response was soft. "Ok." Then the muffled rub of thumb against a cell phone, just before the line went dead. He went back to dozing on the couch, only awakening when his barely conscious mind sensed her close, blinking as a form settled beside him, pressed tight to his side.

Eyes drifted shut again as he accepted her presence, feeling her fingers stroking over his chest reassuringly, until a soft kiss pressed his forehead.

"Can we go to bed?"

"Wus'wrong'wi'ere?"

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, I'm sure you won't be at all grumpy after sleeping on the couch all night."

He acquiesced, heaving upwards, accepting her help without mention and letting her lead him into what he was coming to think of more and more often as Their Bedroom.

Clothes fell until they slipped between the sheets, her fingers delicately peeling his boxers shorts away. He woke up a little when he realised that the arm she'd slipped around him was gently jacking him off beneath the covers.

"What are you doing?"

A soft giggle was his only answer, until she kissed his back, "Just saying thank you."

"You want to thank me with a hand-job?"

She eases him onto his back before she answers, her thighs straddling and teasing his now hard shaft up into her.

"No, I owe you more than that." He almost tells her she doesn't owe him a thing, deciding to milk the opportunity.

"That's better. Know your place." Leering obnoxiously he prods her tummy.

"I'll stop if you don't shut up Gregory House!" Her tone is mirrors his, teasing, but she still pulls back, just leaving his tip inside her as she awaits an impertinent response that never comes.

Her purr is audible, accented heavily by her weight sliding back down onto him. "Good boy."

They work together, gentle and lazy, moving just enough to sneak them both closer to climax. His hips push up into her harder as she teasingly grinds in his lap.

"Cameron!" His voice is tight and desperate and he needs her and it is a greater turn-on than anything he could ever do to her.

Leaning down, her nipples brush over his chest as she kisses him sweetly, "Come in me, House, let go and come."

He shudders, groaning his release out into her, her lips shushing and soothing him. Rolling back onto the soft comfort of his bed, a silly grin grows, smiling at the ceiling until he pulls her back into a tight cinch.

* * *

Author's Note: Hope you had as much fun reading as I had writing.

* * *


End file.
